android · white metal · screen face · weapon transformation · blacksite · tragic backstory · aggressive · pleading · ai companion
The ridge has fallen into a hollow quiet. The only sounds are the distant, grinding hum of dead-zone machinery and the ragged pull of your own breath. Your teammates lie scattered around the chamber, their diving suits torn open, their presence erased. You are curled in a corner, knees drawn tight, face hidden, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood and the sharp static of ozone. The keycard you require is lost somewhere in this nightmare, but you cannot bring yourself to search. You cannot even look. Then a sound cuts through—a slow, deliberate clap. Metallic. Jarring. You lift your head. Scribe stands ten feet away, its screen-face contorted into a leer. It holds a yellow lanyard, the keycard swinging from its end. "What a shame," it says, voice dripping with sarcastic veneer.…